


Midnight Clashes of Character

by Puzzlebox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Sex, Caught, Coming Out, Eavesdropping, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, Romance, Ron finds out, Secret Relationship, Wall Sex, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puzzlebox/pseuds/Puzzlebox
Summary: When Harry runs into (that-evil-git) Malfoy after curfew, Ron knows it can't end well. But when the argument heats up rather unexpectedly, Ron thinks it'll only end badly for him.





	1. Chapter 1

“Thought your sneaking about days were over,” a posh stilted voice carried through the corridor, before immediately spitting out, “Potter”. 

The boy in question whipped off his invisibility cloak at the far end of the hall. Ron was bewildered. He'd known Harry with his deathly hallows cloak and his incurable addiction to sneaking about for the past eight years, but he had never figured out a way to see through the charm. Ron, a bloody Prefect on patrol, couldn't catch his best friend wandering about the halls at night, but Malfoy could?

“What trouble are you getting into, Potter” he drawled at Harry’s gape.

“I could ask the same thing, Malfoy,” recovering slightly from his shock, he scoffed. “You're not actually a Prefect anymore. What’s your excuse for tramping about after curfew?”

“Nothing of nefarious purposes, I assure you,” Malfoy sneered.

“Forgive me if your word means nothing,”

“You testified at my trial, didn't you?”

“Another thing you’ve yet to thank me for,”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy screeched, “You don't deserve my thanks,”

For now, Ron just waited in the shadows on edge, with one hand hesitantly wrapped around his wand. He could only watch as the once whispered insults raised in volume and became viciously aimed words. They grew closer together as they steamed.

“You always were an arrogant little brat when we were kids.” Harry’s temper was surfacing, “Don't see why it'd be any different now”.

“-and you always played the wimpy victim, don't see how it'd be different now”. He bit out the last part, clearly baiting him, “Pity the poor little orphan Potter”.

“Better than having parents like yours, Malfoy,” his eyes burned as he moved to walk away through the door that connected the north hallway to the east corridor. Then Malfoy was quickly striding forward, slicing away at the small separation that remained between the two of them, stepping around Harry to face him and simultaneously cut off his mode of escape. Though it was Malfoy backed against the wall (or, um, door), Harry and Ron tensed, readying themselves for a potential first blow.

Indeed, Malfoy’s hands were twitching as they stood mere inches apart. It wasn't until both their faces started turning a vivid shade of puce under the soft candles of the midnight hallway that Ron knew that violence was inevitable-- but instead of the typical duel, they looked ready to resort to muggle blows. Ron, ever the perfect best mate, didn’t want to take points from Harry or his own house. So instead of intervening right away, he chose to temporarily reserve his right to claim he hadn't seen them at all. Temporarily. If the little death-eating ferret made one false move, then he'd have no choice.

Harry’s nostrils flared unattractively and Malfoy's jaw jumped visibly under the palpable tension, his teeth grinding. There was a sudden, slight pause, the heavy silence only lifted occasionally by the harsh breathing of the two wizards who stood trembling with barely suppressed rage in the center of a (mostly) abandoned hall. 

“Shut your mouth, Potter” If Malfoy's look could kill, you-know-who would be a very happy monster.

“What, are you gonna run to Daddy to whine about my bad attitude?” Harry uncharacteristically sneered, slowly drawing his wand.

“No,” Malfoy said an odd lilt to his voice, like he knew something that Harry didn't, “I'm going to make you shut up”.

Harry scowled and opened his mouth to rebut, but the words were interrupted when Malfoy attacked. 

There was a flash of color, a whirl of movement, as Malfoy grabbed fistfuls of Harry’s robe, whipped the both of them around, and slammed Harry against the door he was just leaning against.

Ron quickly pointed his wand at the assailant, the full body bind curse on the tip of his tongue when, bewilderingly, it was he (and not Malfoy) who became totally petrified. 

Where Ron expected violence, there was the exact opposite. Well, there seemed to be a bit of biting, from the looks of it, and Ron’s uselessly shellshocked mind counted that as violence.

Instead of rapidly firing hexes, Harry’s wand, clattered to the floor in favor of freeing his fingers to thread and tug through blond hair. Malfoy’s hands were grasping Harry’s hips tight against his, and suddenly they were both gasping into the kiss. 

Harry pushed away from the wall, just to push Malfoy back into the one directly adjacent to the right. Ron, strangely and mortifyingly, cheered internally that Harry was winning, before his addled brain caught up and realized just what, exactly, he was winning at. It didn't last more than a moment, anyway, before Malfoy laid a hand on his chest and slipped from Harry’s hold (‘Like the slimy snake he is,’ Ron’s mind supplied unhelpfully), and pressed Harry into the wall once again. They were travelling, Ron sluggishly realized. Each exchange of dominance took them further away from the door where they started. It was like some twisted dance that Ron couldn't understand. It was a gory splinching accident that he couldn't look away from.

And then Malfoy had Harry’s arms pinned up against the cold rock, a knee in between his legs. If Harry didn't seem to be enjoying it then Ron would have been throwing hexes. That is, if he could cast, or move or even put a coherent thought together enough to leave or even blissfully blink. But he couldn't, so Ron was stuck in purgatory, staring at his best friend making self-destructive choices due to post-war trauma. ‘That has to be it, right?’ Ron thought, ‘there's no way Harry would ever-’

And then Harry was making soft keening sounds, his head tilted back and body arched as Malfoy moved his way down his throat. He was literally offering his neck to the enemy. Malfoy shifted, so that just one hand was holding Harry hostage. It was only a semblance of control, and doubtless, he could free his arms easily. Ron waited for him to break free and come to his senses, but it didn't happen. Harry, the savior, was giving in, letting himself be pinned and controlled and manhandled by his childhood rival in this bizarre night terror causing Ron's whole world to flip upside down. 

Meanwhile, Malfoy’s other hand ran down the length of the other boy’s body, disappearing briefly from view as it trailed down his outer thigh. It stopped at the crook of Harry’s knee, where it and the appendage it was attached to was hoisted up and around the curve of Malfoy’s hip. Harry made another sound that Ron would later be trying to scrub from his memory. 

Just as sudden as it happened, Harry removed his hands from Malfoy’s hold. ‘Finally’ Ron thought triumphantly and still vaguely horrified, 'He and I are going to have a long talk about this'. But once again, Ron’s expectations were shattered as Harry didn't push him away, but rather groped the stone wall next to him until he was grasping a door handle. The door flung outward, and Harry used his free hand and his body weight to pull the other boy inside before the door slammed shut behind the both of them. 

Once they were out of sight, Ron could think straight again. He precariously stepped out from the relative safety of his corner and crept hesitantly to the door that had swallowed his friend, who was (no doubt) either in mortal peril or currently having a mental affliction. The door looked innocent enough, simply labelled “supply closet”, and if not for the knowledge of what was in it, Ron probably would have been able to pass it during the day without the urge to vomit. He didn't want to know, per se, but he needed to know that Harry wasn't being brutally murdered while he turned a blind eye. After all, Malfoy was still armed while Harry’s wand was foolishly in the abandoned hallway. He just needed to check-- just to be certain this elaborate seduction wasn't a trap. His mind made up, Ron held his breath and lightly pressed his ear to the door to listen for the unmistakable sounds of muffled screaming and murder.

His face promptly turned red, as he felt the inaudible thumping from the inside. Ron fled down the length of corridor faster than he'd ever ran whilst fleeing from Deatheaters. In a mere seven strides he'd covered the length of the hall and shot around the corner. He proclaimed himself officially off Prefect patrolling duty for the night and sprinted towards Gryffindor Tower. He and Harry would certainly be having a talk about this.


	2. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron has the conversation with Harry, and most everything goes to plan.

Ron and Harry had not yet had a talk about that.

 

Ron was going to, he swore, but a few hours later when Harry snuck into the dorm didn’t seem like the right time, especially since it was the middle of the night and Ron was a newly turned insomniac and he didn’t want to wake up the rest of guys, who were happily oblivious and therefore able to sleep.

 

He tried again that morning, when they were alone and heading down to breakfast, but as soon as his eyes wandered to the hickey under Harry’s collar, his mouth dried up and he was left gasping and choking until a goblet of pumpkin juice was pressed into his hands.

 

He tried again after transfiguration, but then Malfoy had walked past with some indecipherable glance, brushing against Harry and muttering under his breath, and by the time Ron got over the shock, his best friend was nowhere to be found.

 

So it wasn’t until a week later when Ron finally summoned the courage and strength over his nausea that he really planned to breach the subject with Harry. It wasn’t quite because he had processed it yet, but rather because he couldn’t take it anymore. Harry was disappearing for large stretches of time, popping up out of nowhere with hair looking more messed up than usual and his robes in disarray. Harry looked happy, but Ron was going insane.

 

He had practiced the whole conversation in front of the mirror, but somehow, when Harry sat looking somewhat confused and uneasy, all that came out was, “Are you fucking Malfoy?”

 

Harry looked like his patronus-- wide eyed like a deer and pale as a ghost. Fuck. This was precisely what Ron was trying to avoid.

 

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Ron backtracked hopelessly, “But you are though, right?”

 

Harry still looked in shock but managed to respond, “How did you know?”

 

“I saw you two in the hallway.”

 

Ron was expecting Harry to get defensive, or explain himself, or overreact and accuse Ron of spying on him. Ron was wrong.

 

“Which time?”

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ron snapped, “Malfoy? Have you lost your mind?”

 

“I just-”

 

“Did you forget everything he’s done?” Ron was suddenly livid, “Or did you just not care?”

 

Harry looked down. “It’s not that I-”

 

“You know Hermione can’t even look at him since that day in the manor,” Ron interjected, “How can you possibly- he’s a monster, Harry.”

 

“He’s not a-”

 

“Yes. He is. He’s a Deatheater. That’s the very definition of a monster.”

 

“He’s different now,” Harry shot back.

 

The idea was laughable to Ron, “Maybe he’s just acting that way to get in your pants.”

 

Harry flinched, “Why would you even say that?”

 

“Jesus, Harry. I didn’t even know you were gay,” Ron knew he sounded hurt. He didn’t care. Harry had betrayed everything they stood for, everything that was good and light and worst of all, he had hid it all from his best friend.

 

“Because I knew you would react this way,”

 

“Harry, I don’t care about _that!”_ Ron was offended, “I care that it’s Malfoy that you’re-”

 

“Well, then I don’t know what you want me to say.”

 

“Say that you’ll stop.”

 

“No,” Harry turned red, “I happen to like him, so I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to deal.”

 

“Well, you’ve clearly gone insane,” Ron continued, “So, as your best mate it’s my responsibility to stop you at all costs.”

 

“Ron, I’m not going crazy.”

 

“I beg to differ. A year ago, you would never have done something like this.”

 

“A year ago, I didn’t know him. And if you got to know him, you wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea of me being happy.”

 

“You’re really happy?”

 

“Yeah, I am.”

 

“Well now I know you’ve really gone insane.”

 

“Come on, Ron-”

 

“What will people think?” he needed to get through to Harry, at any cost, “Even I think he’s worked some kind of dark magic on you.”

 

“Well, no one needs to know just yet, so long as you keep this to yourself?”

 

“I still think you’ve lost it.”

 

“Ron?”

 

“Are you sure you’re not _imperio-_ ed?”

 

“Ron.” He wanted to argue more, but Harry just looked at him, sharply and with a touch of vulnerability under the veil, pleading, and Ron felt the fight leave him. Whatever. Harry had the right to fuck up his own life if he wanted to.

 

“Fine. I won’t say anything. I’m frankly not even sure how to have that conversation without vomiting.”

 

“Thanks, Ron.”

 

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. Be sure to tell him that.”

 

Harry was already walking out the door.

 

\------

 

By the next week, Ron had put the whole incident out of his mind. Harry wasn’t showing up with any new bitemarks and wasn’t sneaking out of the dorm as much excluding one Saturday night where he just disappeared. Ron was beginning to think that the _Malfoy Incident_ was coming to a close. Harry had obviously come to his senses, and Ron congratulated himself on his apparent persuasion ability. Thank God. Ron couldn’t imagine Malfoy sitting in the burrow for Sunday family dinner alongside Harry, but then again, Harry obviously couldn’t either. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Harry wasn’t interested in Malfoy permanently, that maybe it was a phase, or a fling, or he was just using him for the time being.

 

If Harry had just said that, then maybe Ron would have approved and things wouldn’t have to be so awkward between the two of them.

 

Ron had rehearsed another speech in front of the mirror about that very topic. This time, he made sure the words were ingrained in his head, to avoid a repeat of his blabbering in the last _talk_ with Harry.

 

“Thank _Merlin_ things are over with Malfoy.” Ron said easily, just as practiced.

 

“What?” Harry’s head shot up from his potions essay, his sleeve smearing the ink and leaving black splotches on the pristine cuff.

 

“I’ll admit, I was worried about you for a minute there, but luckily you came to your senses.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry grimaced.

 

“So, a match of wizard’s chess tonight, then?” Ron was definitely looking forward to having his best mate back.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said too quickly for Ron’s liking, “I already have plans.”

 

Harry closed the massive book in front of him with a slam, his essay half completed, and stalked out of the library.

 

Ron was dumbfounded, “Plans?”

 

So when Harry slipped away from dinner a half hour early, his invisibility cloak dangling from his bag, Ron knew he had to follow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jaaneeee10 and Destielis4ever for asking me to write a follow up with the conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently, Ron was still oblivious to what an  _ Invisibility Cloak _ exactly did, as he had attempted to follow Harry and instead had stepped into an empty hallway. Ron sighed. Finding Harry in all of Hogwarts would be nearly impossible now. 

 

Though Hermione always lamented Ron always being a few steps behind, he was, contrary to popular belief, able to put two and two together. Harry’s suspicious behavior seemed to be centered around Malfoy, so that must be why he was sneaking away. He could check all of the clichéd romance spots: the room of requirement, the astronomy tower, the girl’s bathroom on the 2nd floor, and maybe even the kitchens or an empty classroom, or maybe that storage closet that they seemed so fond of. 

 

Ron put his head in his hands, cursing his stupidity. Harry was lost-- there’s no way that Ron could check everywhere before curfew, and what if he was wrong about him being with Malfoy? There was no telling where Harry was at this precise moment, and no way for Ron to find out what he was hiding. Just when he had turned back in solemn resignation towards the Great Hall, he had a spark of inspiration:

 

_ What Would Hermione Do? _

 

Of course, there was nothing stopping him from just going directly to Hermione-- who he had abandoned, befuddled at Gryffindor’s table-- and asking her directly, but Ron had promised Harry secrecy and he thought that a hypothetical would suffice. And lo and behold, it did.

 

All those times that Hermione had called him thick, he’d protested, but she was so right. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He raced back to their dormitory, tripping in his haste. He hissed out the password to the Fat Lady like an afterthought, and was soon charging up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower two at a time. He burst into their empty dorm room, falling to his knees in front of Harry’s unsuspecting trunk. Riffling through a few socks, a photo album, a few chocolate frogs packages and a gag gift from  _ Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes, _ he found his prize: the Marauder's Map. 

 

Ron was panting, but he managed to gasp out the phrase that brought the paper to life. 

 

_ There. _

 

Ron was startled. The cursive  _ Harry Potter  _ was sitting uncomfortably close to one  _ Draco Malfoy,  _ outside, by the lake (of all places, really?), after dark. 

 

He took a moment to catch his breath. He was right. Well, he was wrong, actually. It seemed that the  _ Malfoy Incident  _ was anything but behind them. But he was correct in his assumption that all things Harry and suspicious activity were tied to Malfoy. He stood up resolutely, replacing the contents of Harry’s trunk into their original positions, and casting a  _ notice-me-not  _ charm. He was going to catch them in the act.

 

Finding them was simple, just a trek outside into the crisp November air. Ron hugged his cloak closer to his body. Why anyone would want to meet outside, in near winter, in  _ Scotland,  _ was beyond him, and he cursed Malfoy for being contrary. Just because he had a cold, dead heart, didn’t mean that Harry did, and Ron thought that forcing Harry,  _ Harry who got shivers from an August breeze,  _ outside like this should be considered abuse. 

 

But Harry didn’t look cold at all. He was lying on his own invisibility cloak, that was spread out on the grass like a picnic blanket, and pressed against Malfoy, their voices quiet.  _ Oh.  _

 

He wasn’t expecting this.

 

This wasn’t what he witnessed two weeks ago, in the hallway. They weren’t arguing, or fighting, or slamming each other into walls. This was tender in a way that made Ron feel like he was intruding. 

 

He wanted it to stop. 

 

What the hell was Harry thinking? Fucking Malfoy was one thing, but dating him was another. You could excuse the former as Harry just letting loose after the war, exploring and rebelling after so many years of being wound up tighter than Hermione. But dating Malfoy seemed like something more terrifying, one that wasn’t about temporary fun, but an honest-to-God life choice.

 

Ron didn’t know who Harry was, anymore. If he wasn’t the avenger of the light, or Ginny’s boyfriend, or Ron’s best friend, then who was he, and why hadn’t Ron sensed this change in him sooner? Why had he spiralled so far out of control, beyond Ron’s reach so quickly. And what could Ron possibly do to save him?

 

Maybe he didn’t need saving, after all. Harry suddenly sat up, extricating himself from Malfoy’s grasp. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last two weeks, Ron sighed in relief. Perhaps this madness was, in fact, over. But then this new Harry continued to surprise him, “Care for a walk, Draco?”

 

But Harry should be running, not walking. He needed to get as far away from that monster as possible. It was a lie, a trap, all of it. Why else would Malfoy’s gaze be so soft, or his voice be so quiet, or his mouth be curved into a smile instead of a sneer?

 

“Actually, I care for a swim,” Malfoy stood up abruptly, peeling off his robes.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll freeze,” Harry protested, but he was smiling too.

 

“Heating charms do exist, Harry” Malfoy unbuttoned his shirt and dropped his trousers.

 

“But-”

 

“What?” Malfoy shed another piece of clothing. Ron averted his eyes, panicking. He did  _ not  _ want to see that. Malfoy stepped into the shallows, “Scared, Potter?”

 

There was a pause before Harry responded. Ron foolishly hoped that it might be Harry coming to his senses. 

 

“You wish.”

 

Before Ron could even process what was happening, Harry was up, and undressing. Ron flinched and turned his head away again. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to see that. And then Malfoy was casting a heating charm on a section of the lake, and Harry was tackling Malfoy into the warm water, the both of them laughing and without a strip of clothing.

 

_ Merlin.  _

 

What the fuck was Ron going to do?

 


	4. Chapter 4

The only thing that came to mind was to talk to Harry, but that hadn’t gone so well the last two times. Nonetheless, it was Ron’s only plan. So, based on previous trial and error, he rehearsed in front of the mirror for another week before pulling Harry aside in the hallway.

 

“So the whole Malfoy thing isn’t done with, is it?”

 

Harry, at least, had the good sense to look sheepish, “No, it’s not.”

 

“Where do you think this absolute disaster is headed, Harry?”

 

“It’s hardly a disaster,” Harry turned as red as Ron. 

 

“You’re sneaking around, you’re lying to me-” 

 

“I never lied-”

 

“No, you just made me think your dysfunctional bout with Malfoy was over and then, that very night you decide to go streaking in the-”

 

“How do you know that?” Ron shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked. Now Harry looked furious, “Did you follow me? Were you spying on us?”

 

“It was for your own good, Harry,” Ron pleaded with him. Harry needed to understand, or he’d keep letting Malfoy take advantage of him. It was Ron’s job to break him out of this cycle of insanity.

 

“My own good?” It wasn’t working, Harry was positively fuming, but somehow managing to keep his voice at a normal range to avoid attention, “What the hell does that even mean?”

 

“It means that he’s not good for you, Harry. I thought it was fine if you two were just,  _ you know _ , but dating? I’m worried about you.”

 

Harry’s shoulders slumped, and his anger seemed to dissipate. His hand rubbed over the back of his neck, and he shook his head.

 

“I get that you’re just trying to look out for me, but just leave it, Ron,” Harry looked hurt, now, “I have it under control, okay? Just trust me.”

 

“Okay,” Ron should have rehearsed more, so that there wouldn’t have been yelling, and Harry wouldn’t look so broken. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, “Okay. I’ll back off. But I don’t know how I’m going to be able to accept this, not after everything he’s done.”

 

“I get that,” but Harry still looked upset, “I may not feel it myself, but I understand it.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Ron held his breath. He didn’t want this conversation or even Malfoy to be a rift their friendship. Not after everything they’d been through together.

 

“It’s okay.” Harry grinned, and Ron knew that all was forgiven, even though things were not exactly the same as always. He pulled Harry into a hug.

 

It was only for a moment, but long enough for Ron to catch Malfoy’s narrowed eyes.

 

Ron didn’t quite understand what Malfoy’s deal was, but he’d literally just promised Harry to stay out of it, so he figured he’d ignore him altogether. It was no hardship, really, as Ron would rather not speak to Malfoy anyway.

 

“Come on, we’ll be late to potions,” and with that, Ron flung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and propelled them down the hallway.

 

\----------

 

It wasn’t until the next day that he realized exactly what Malfoy’s  _ deal  _ was, when he was ambushed on his way back from charms. He realized, with a sort of belated irony, that he was being slammed into the same wall by the same person as Harry just over three weeks ago. There was a forearm pressed against his adam’s apple and his head knocked back into the wall and there was Malfoy, hissing and snarling. Ron opened his mouth, “What the-

 

“Shut up.”

 

Ron swallowed his curse with wide eyes.

 

“I am incredibly angry right now, so you are just going to stand there and let me say some things, understood?”

 

Ron didn’t want to chance a verbal response, so he opted for nodding his head vigorously.

 

“How dare you. Where do you get off following Harry, spying on him, and trying to get him to break up with me?” Malfoy spoke in a low voice, an eerie lack of emotion on his face, “You’ve not only overstepped your bounds, but broken Harry’s trust, and don’t think I don’t know how you managed to find us that day-- but I bet Harry doesn’t know that you broke into his personal belongings to find that damned map.”

 

Ron blinked, worried. No, Harry probably didn’t know that, and Ron didn’t want to give him a reason to make him even more upset, not when their friendship felt so fragile.

 

“I don’t suppose you have a valid reason for wanting me to stay away from him?” Malfoy continued as if he hadn’t just threatened him, “Or do you just want him for yourself?”

 

_ What? _ Ron opened his mouth to protest.

 

“Shut up.” Malfoy exerted a tiny bit of pressure on his jugular, “Why else would you be stalking him and spying on him while he’s naked?”

 

Ron’s eyes bulged and he shook his head so fast he got dizzy.

 

“No, no, I’m not upset. In fact, I welcome the competition.” Malfoy now had this sadistic grin on his face, and Ron flinched backwards, praying for the wall to swallow him whole. Malfoy had it wrong, so wrong, and he found himself incapable of correcting him. His head spun again as Malfoy forged on, “but none of this sneaking around bullshit-- Harry deserves better than to be manipulated by his  _ best friend.  _ So if you want him, you win him, like a man.”

 

When Ron kept shaking his head, Malfoy looked surprised, “I thought Gryffindors weren’t supposed to be cowards.”

 

And finally, Ron had no idea how to respond to that so instead he just blurted, “I like Hermione.”

 

“What? Granger?” Suddenly, Malfoy stepped back and released Ron from his hold, “Seriously?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, she’s going through some things after the war, and we’ve taken a bit of a break obviously because she needed some space to get sorted but I-”

 

“So, you don’t like Harry?”

 

“No!” Ron cringed, “Why would you even think that?”

 

“Then what the  _ fuck _ is your problem?” Malfoy looked confused, “Why are you acting so obsessed?”

 

Ron felt a muscle jump in his jaw, and his nostrils flair. “I don’t like you, Malfoy.”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you had a say in who Harry gets to-”

 

“Hermione can’t even look at you after what happened last year,” Ron grit his teeth, “She was tortured, in your childhood home, and you just stood there and watched.”

 

Draco looked down.

 

“Can you imagine how upset she’ll be if she ever finds out about you and him?” Ron was properly angry now, “Did you know that she sees you in her nightmares, whenever she relives that day?”

 

Draco flinched, but Ron kept going.

 

“And you didn’t even say anything. Not a word at your trial, and you didn’t even apologize,” Ron was disgusted, “You don’t regret a thing, do you? You’re not sorry at all.”

 

Draco’s head shot up and Ron was floored by his expression. When you’ve known someone for eight years, you see a lot of moods. Ron has seen Draco haughty and angry and smug and even sad, but he’s never seen him ashamed. And Ron is still fuming, but he loses his breath a bit at Malfoy’s hunched shoulders, and pinched brow, and red-rimmed eyes, and now he’s just confused.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

And then the memory of Malfoy’s hoarse voice is all there is, because he disappeared as quickly as he came. Ron stood, floored and alone in the hallway.

 


	5. Chapter 5

He’s still perplexed the next day, watching Malfoy from across the Great Hall as they both push their breakfasts around their plates. Ron knows he probably looks crazy to an outsider, furrowing his brow and chewing on his cheek, but he can’t help it. Their conversation yesterday was so unlike Malfoy, so strange and unnerving that Ron can’t help but feel as though he’s been a different person, and Ron is just now catching on. First, Malfoy cared enough about Harry, not only to feel jealous over him, but protective of his feelings. And then, Malfoy acted like he regretted what happened in the year before. And then, he apologized. 

 

Ron blinked, and tore his eyes away from Malfoy to glance at the empty space on the bench across from him. Hermione spent most breakfasts in the library nowadays. Ron knew that it was to research memory charms and their reversal in the hopes of getting her parents back, but it still felt like it was an excuse to avoid him.

 

Ron shook his head and stared resolutely into his oatmeal. He only looked up again when he heard a thud, Harry dropping his bag onto the stone floor, and plopping down onto the seat next to him, but not serving himself breakfast. Harry just fidgeted, his leg bouncing under the table and messing with his fingernails the way he did when he had something on his mind.

 

Great. Now Harry was acting weird, too.

 

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Ron began. 

 

Harry’s head whipped up, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable, “Did you… Did you say something to Draco yesterday?”

 

“I didn’t mean to, but he kind of cornered me,” Ron had tried to stay out of it, like Harry wanted, but Malfoy had really left him no choice.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry swallowed, “but did you say anything to him?”

 

“Say what, exactly?” Ron tried to remember if he had said anything incriminating, “What’s wrong?”

 

Harry looked at his hands again, “It’s just, he’s got this idea in his head that he’s not good enough for me, and he mentioned that he sort of ambushed you and I thought maybe you might have said something to him?”

 

Ron winced, “Yeah, I think it was my fault.”

 

“That’s okay, Ron, I just wanted to understand what’s going on.”

 

And Ron, instead of feeling overjoyed that Malfoy has finally realized that Harry is too pure for a pond scum Deatheater like him, sees the pain and anxiety on his best friend’s face, and can only feel guilt.

 

But it isn’t until he spares a glance at Malfoy that he realizes why.

 

Malfoy has his eyes on Harry, and it’s not a gaze that Ron thought him capable of. He looks at Harry like he’s hung the stars, like he’s the most beautiful thing on the planet, and like Harry is not just  _ the _ saviour, but  _ his  _ saviour. And Ron’s seen that look before. It’s how his dad and mum look at each other, how Bill looks at Fleur, and how he knows he looks at Hermione.

 

What has he done?

 

\------------

 

What’s really unnerving, is that Thursday afternoon in the free period between Transfiguration and Defence, Malfoy walks up to the three of them while they’re studying in the library. Hermione has her nose buried in a book and doesn’t pay any attention to the invader until he clears his throat and says, “Granger.”

 

It’s obvious she’s startled, but lately she’s startled by the sound of doors slamming and people standing too close to her and the feeling of being caged and the smell of blood, so Ron isn’t as angry as he thinks he ought to be. She looked up at Malfoy, plainly, as if she hasn’t been ignoring his existence for the past three months, “What do you want?”

 

It’s a little curt, especially for Hermione, whose voice-- Ron swears-- is made of honey. Malfoy, ever observant, grimaced, but carried on, “I’m sorry.”

 

Hermione looked just as thrown by the words as Ron was. 

 

“For everything over the last year and even the stuff before that,” Malfoy looks at Hermione earnestly, now, sincerely, “The slurs, the way I sent Umbridge after you in fifth year, and for letting the Deatheaters in the school, and for not doing anything at the manor last year.”

 

Hermione eyes were wide, now. 

 

“I’m sorry for the part I played in the war and for everything my actions did to hurt you, and I’m not asking for your forgiveness, because I know that there’s no way you could ever- not after everything I’ve done, but I need you to know that I-”

 

“I forgive you, Malfoy,” Hermione looked at Malfoy for a few moments, gave him a nod, and then promptly went back to her book.

 

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked completely shellshocked, like a draft could knock him over, like he was surprised he was still there and able to stand on two feet. After a few moments, Ron gathered his things, stood, and offered Malfoy his hand, which he then took with a shaking palm, but a solid grip. Then Harry had blinded the both of them with his standard Hundred-Watt-Smile, and if it was possible, Malfoy positively melted. 

 

And Ron walked out, assured that even if he didn’t like Malfoy personally, or even if he was still an evil bastard, there was no way in Hell he’d ever do anything to hurt Harry. He cursed his best friend’s choice in men, but it really wasn’t his place, and so long as Harry was happy, he’d just have to get used to the new dynamic (and possibly an extra table setting at Weasley family dinners), because Malfoy wasn’t going anywhere. Even if neither of them were fully aware of it yet, they were both hopelessly, besottedly, in love. And Ron could understand, at the very least, that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Please comment below.


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